Sorting through my things
See what i can find
Picking through the past
See what's left behind
Multi-colored sweaters
That moths have eaten holes
A paire of breaded mocassins with worn out soles
Boots were made for walking
Winds were blowing change
Boys fall in the jungle
As i came of age
Black and white tv
With a broken 12-inch screen
Dylan's highway 61
And jackie's love machine
I reread your letters and again
I cry great tears
Light comes to the surface
Even after all these years